


The World's A Fickle Place Honey

by apple9131999



Series: The States of America [24]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Disabled Character, Fourth of July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6897454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple9131999/pseuds/apple9131999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It made her mad whenever she fell because she had been in this godforsaken chair since she was 74 years old.</p><p>(A side-piece to <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6897943">How to Survive a Texan Summer Day</a></i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World's A Fickle Place Honey

 

July 4, 2015- Fredericksburg, Texas

* * *

It made her mad whenever she fell because she had been in this godforsaken chair since she was 74 years old. She was a quarter way through her third century now. She’d been in the chair for 151 years. And she had a new, updated, modern chair and not the _‘relic’_ that Ryan called her old one when they’d bought her a new one for Christmas two years ago.

(Her old chair hadn’t even been _that_ old)

And yet.

The fall itself was almost comical. She’d probably be laughing now if not for the worried look France was giving her. It had happened in slow motion almost, panic as her left wheel jumped over the ceramic shard that she _swore_ hadn’t been there as she was trying to turn around, her hands shooting out, trying to grab onto the countertops to stop her impending fall, her jostling to get more of her weight on her right side sent her tipping over the other side, and then came the acceptance that she was two hundred and twenty-five years old and was going to fall out of her wheelchair. She got her right hand up by her ear before she hit the ground, the force of her fall almost not quite spilling her out of her chair. She’d probably made a ridiculous face at one point.

She had been breathing sharply, having succeeded in flopping herself onto her back to stare at the ceiling, comparing herself to a beached whale, and generally lacking the will and stability and patience it would take her to get back into her chair. She was thinking about the amount of time she could be gone before either Ryan or Sydney noticed when France walked in.

He hadn’t noticed her at first. It took her clearing her throat for him to glance away from something out of her line of sight and down to her.

“Oh hello,” he said, crouching by her side.

She smiled as she worked two arms under her body and hefted herself up so that she looked like she was sitting, even though her legs were kicked at an odd angle. She balanced her weight on one hand and held out her right hand. “Tennessee, or Savannah if you’d prefer.”

He nodded and then looked around where she was sitting. “Oh!” he exclaimed worriedly. “Is that glass?”

She shook her head and dropped her hand to fiddle with one of the larger shards by her knee. She recognized the pattern. “It’s just a plate.”

“Did you drop it?”

She shook her head. “No, it was here when I got here. Actually, it’s the only reason why I’m on the floor.”

His eyes locked on her chair and he nodded absently and then wouldn’t look her in the eye.

She tried not to sigh too loudly. “Could you get Al or Kentucky for me? Or North Carolina?”

“Do you need help getting into…?”

“Not normally, but I’m tired and my chair’s in a weird angle and there’s not a lot of room that I could use to get myself into the chair…”

He nodded and bid a hasty retreat, glancing once behind him before he left the room completely. Ryan appeared in his place a few moments later.

* * *

France had stared at her the rest of the night. He seemed to be there whenever she turned around; he bore witness to the BBQ fight she and Ryan had which had ended in both of their sauces being mixed together and a third party spreading the word not to talk about the BBQ tonight. His eyes seemed to be always on her when they were all together; his eyes never really strayed from here during dinner. He was so obvious about it that time that several of her siblings noticed. Owen reached over to hold her hand under the table, but she only squeezed it once and then dropped her hand. It wasn’t anything she was already used to dealing with.

She had sent Ryan off to get her a drink and then very deliberately turned to stare him down.

He approached her instead.

“I’ve met you before tonight, yes?” he asked when he approached her.

She only raised one eyebrow. “We have.” She had accompanied Mason, Slidell, and Sydney back in 1861.

“May I ask what happened?” he asked, gesturing to her chair.

She pursed her lips. “Is that why you have been staring at me for the whole day?”

He looked a little uncomfortable, but still nodded.

She sighed, looking down at her useless legs. “The Civil War happened. It was an accident. I was an idiot and I still bear the damages today.”

France looked taken aback. “So is this some sort of penance for the…?”

“No,” she scoffed. “I was in a barn. Barn caught flame. Ceiling came crashing in.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

She smiled as sweetly as she could and lifted the brakes off of her wheels. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure Ryan is not drunk off of his ass. Good day, France.”

“Happy Birthday, Miss Tennessee.”


End file.
